


by my side

by svitzian



Series: finnpoe fics [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 06:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21352099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svitzian/pseuds/svitzian
Summary: Finn thinks: at least he’s going to die with Poe at his side.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn
Series: finnpoe fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1539958
Comments: 15
Kudos: 250
Collections: Finn Centric Recommendations





	by my side

Finn thinks: at least he’s going to die with Poe at his side.

* * *

In the end, it’s not the Order that kills him, and maybe that’s a little disappointing in a way, because Finn would rather die at their hands than any other way, would rather have his death mean something—some sort of sacrifice for the Resistance, the ultimate proof of his allegiance. He’d do anything to keep them safe, to help them win the war, to save them. If a death at the hands of the Order does those things, then Finn is convinced that he’d be able to face it with a square jaw and little fear.

This, though. This isn’t that. This is a shootout in a cave on some backwater planet they were only supposed to be spending a day on. This has nothing to do with the Order. There’s no officers, no stormtroopers, no cannons, just blaster fire and bounty hunters and criminals doing whatever would keep them alive.

There wasn’t even supposed to be any combat on this mission, Finn remembers. General Organa had laid it out simply enough. An old rebel base on some dusty old moon, one that might have supplies still intact, supplies that the Resistance desperately needed—munitions, rations, fuel. The planet was supposed to be uninhabited, and the mission would be a quick in-and-out—get in, get the supplies, and get them back to the Resistance. Nothing out of the ordinary, and maybe even something that could be relaxing—just him and Poe, kicking around some old, abandoned base, gathering up supplies before hauling them back.

* * *

The funny thing was that it _had_ been relaxing at first. The landing was easy, just as the flight was, because Poe was a hell of a kriffing pilot, and he was even better when there weren’t TIE fighters in pursuit or cannons firing at him. Finn didn’t fly with him a lot, given how cramped the X-Wing could get and the claustrophobia he felt in that little back seat, but for this trip he could make do. He knew there’d be no combat expected, and that alone made some of the tension he felt ease away, as did Poe’s mindless banter. Poe had a way of doing that, of talking until Finn wasn’t thinking about anything but the pilot and the way his voice sounded and the lightness of his laughter and how much he kriffing _loved_ him.

“A little cold, huh?” Finn stood off to the side of the X-Wing after they’d landed, watching as BB-8 lowered themselves down, Poe checking over some systems that he thought he might tinker with in the meantime. At his comment, though, Poe had turned around, raising his eyebrows and smiling that smile that made Finn’s heart skip a beat.

“I don’t know if you’ve got a right to complain, bud. You’re the one wearing my best jacket.”

The reminder made Finn glance down—not because he’d forgotten he was wearing the jacket (because stars, he wore it everywhere, whenever he could), but because he liked seeing it, liked the reminder of what it meant. To him, it meant Poe, and Poe meant family.

He tugged the worn leather a little closer around himself, chuckling as BB-8 finally rolled over to them. “You really expect me to believe that this jacket is warmer than your flight suit?”

There was something playful in his tone, and he only grinned wider when Poe walked over, gently resting his hands on Finn’s hips. The playfulness remained clear on his face, but as his eyes flickered, there was something else, too, something that always made Finn feel warm, and like his bones were made of jelly.

“Tell you what. We get back to base and you’re still feeling a chill, well. I can think of a few ways to help warm you up.”

BB-8 let out a scandalized trill as Finn laughed, lightly smacking the man on the shoulder and rolling his eyes. “You’re horrible,” he murmured, shining eyes meeting Poe’s. Poe smiled right back, still holding him at his hips, his face so close that Finn wanted so badly to just lean in and kiss him, right then and there.

When Poe spoke, his voice was light and teasing, face easing forward until he was all but murmuring against Finn’s lips. “You love me for it.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Finn acknowledged softly, smiling and just about to finally close the short distance between them with a kiss before BB-8 interrupted with a series of indignant beeps, rolling forward until their body clanged against Poe’s leg to break the two apart. Poe gasped, reaching down to hold his leg in mock hurt as he looked at the droid, shaking his head as though he were appalled at their behavior.

“Really, Beebee. That’s my good leg.”

BB-8 beeped again. Finn still didn’t know Binary, but he’d heard enough of their beeps by now to get a sense of tone. This tone was definitely sassy.

Poe rolled his eyes, but pulled his hands off of his ‘injured’ leg all the same, lips slipping into a smile again. “Yeah, well, when you and D-0 wanna start spending some special time together, don’t be surprised when I—” 

BB-8 broke off into another series of beeps, this time sounding distantly embarrassed, before they quickly began rolling off towards the compound in the distance, clearly done dealing with Poe, who turned to Finn with a shrug and raised eyebrows, a ‘what-can-you-do’ sort of look.

“Can’t win ‘em all.”

Finn shook his head, letting out one quiet chuckle before he refocused himself on the building BB-8 was speeding off to. It certainly looked old, a far cry from the sleek and clean Order bases he’d grown up in. But if it held the supplies they needed, Finn didn’t give a kriff what it looked like. “C’mon. Let’s go. You got the code?”

Poe nodded, fumbling with the utility belt of his flight suit for a second before he pulled out his comm, flashing it at Finn with a cheeky grin. “Right here, Captain.” A new title for Finn, one he’d only received days ago, and one that Poe insisted on reminding him of at every given opportunity despite Finn’s insistence that it was still a low rank, certainly not a _Commander_. Poe didn’t seem to care.

BB-8 was already waiting impatiently at the door by the time the two of them strolled up, and Finn watched Poe as he moved to fumble with the keypad. “Let’s hope this kriffing relic works.” He pounded in the code they’d been given, the one General Organa had pulled from her memory. After all the digits had been punched in, he stepped back, wide eyes watching the large, looming doors. For a moment, nothing happened, and Finn swallowed down the thought that this mission could be a failure, that the base could be too old, the code could be inaccurate—

Then, though, there was a screeching noise, and slowly, the doors began to open in front of them. Poe broke into a smile like he always did, looking over at Finn, who was still watching those doors, seemingly amazed that they still even worked after all these years.

“After you, Captain.”

Finn wanted to hit him for saying his rank again, and he probably would’ve if he wasn’t so taken by the sight that greeted him as the doors finally stopped again. It was definitely a base, alright, and definitely one that hadn’t been used in _years._ As he slowly stepped inside, the smell of _age_ hit him hard. It definitely wasn’t a good smell.

“This whole place is a relic,” he mumbled, more to himself than anything, as he stepped off to the side, frowning at an old helmet that somehow had come to rest in the corner of the room. There was dust on the visor, and he leaned down, letting his thumb cleanly swipe through the dirt.

Poe’s voice came from behind him, and clearly, he was looking at the helmet, too. “Kriff. Hope my helmet never looks like that.” His voice was light, but underneath it all, Finn knew there was something else, something serious—real worry at the prospect that it very well _could_ look like that someday, if some mission didn’t go the way they planned.

The thought hit Finn, too, and he stood, pushing down that constant worry for now. No need for it when they were out here, alone in some old base, so far from the combat probably happening across the galaxy. For the time being, Poe was safe, and for the time being, Finn could use a reprieve from that permanent anxiety.

“As if,” he said lightly, looking up at the man as he stood again and tried to straighten his back. The scar still bothered him a little if he moved too much or too quickly. “I think you’d sooner let someone shave your head, then let your helmet end up like that.”

Poe laughed—the reaction Finn had been hoping for, a sign that all was well for the time being. The reminder of their own mortality hadn’t shaken him too badly. “Yeah, well, what can I say. I’ve got nice hair.”

“I know you do, Poe. You never shut up about it.” The two exchanged smiles, reassurances hidden underneath them, and Finn stepped further into the base, curious eyes taking it all in. Eventually, he found himself at a screen by the wall, blinking as he raised a hand to touch it.

“If we could get this system up and working, we could probably figure out where all those supplies might be. Would be a lot easier than just wandering around until we find something,” he pointed out, glancing at Poe, who rather quickly came to join him at his side. Poe seemed receptive to the idea, and Finn stepped back to let him tinker with the screen, trying to engage the system.

Upon a few careful touches, the screen sprung to life, a hazy blue light falling on Poe’s face. That was when Finn noticed the frown on his features. “What’s the matter?”

Poe glanced up at him as though he’d forgotten he was there, and then he shook his head, turning back to the screen. “Nothing. All good here. Just—fired up a lot more quickly than I thought it would, for something that hasn’t been used since—stars, probably before I was even—”

Finn heard the sound of the blaster being drawn before he heard the voice behind them, and instinctively, his hand landed on his own blaster, tucked into his holster.

“Hands up. Now.”

He didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to, to know that they were in trouble. He didn’t move, though, even to raise his hands, and neither did Poe, the both of them staring forward as they tried to evaluate the situation.

“Hands _up,_ or we blow your kriffing brains out.”

That left little room for argument. Finn took his cue from Poe, waiting for the man to sigh and slowly turn around, his arms raised in the air. He followed his actions carefully (as did BB-8, with a low and almost mournful whistle) and reminded himself to _breathe_ as he turned to face the small group aiming blasters at them. Not troopers, and definitely not Order officers. Their outfits were dirtied and mismatched. One of them was missing an eye, and another… Finn had seen a lot of alien species, he thought, but he’d definitely never encountered _that_ before. Whatever it was, it was purple and swollen-looking and big and pretty kriffing terrifying.

Definitely not Order. But clearly not friendly, either. Smugglers, he thought. Criminals of some sort. It had to be.

Poe was better in these situations than he was, and the pilot was the first one to speak, keeping his hands raised carefully and scanning the crowd that had happened upon them. “Hey, look, we don’t want any trouble—”

“And _we_ don’t want you here.” There was a woman in the middle of the group, tall and broad. She seemed pretty damn frightening based on looks alone, with the heavy blaster in her hands and the clear shine of a robotic limb where Finn assumed she might’ve once had a leg, and her voice was no less scary. She wasn’t too eager to hear out their attempts at explanations, it seemed. “This isn’t your place.”

Finn felt his throat tightening up, panic beginning to churn in his chest, but Poe still managed to play it cool, shrugging a little and shaking his head. “Alright. Alright, you don’t want us here, we’ll go. No hard feelings, no harm done.” They’d be giving up the possibility of getting those supplies, yes, but it would be better than giving up their lives.

“You’re wrong about one thing there. Plenty of hard feelings.” That was all it took for Finn’s stomach to sink, for his palms to start sweating profusely even as he held them in the air. No. If these were Order sympathizers—or worse, _collaborators_—they were dead meat. They were six against two. He tried to calm himself down, reminding himself that there was a chance these people didn’t even _recognize_ them, didn’t know who he and Poe were—but then the woman’s gaze fixed on him, a smile slipping across her lips and showing her sharp teeth, and Finn knew that wasn’t a possibility.

“A defector, hm?” One of the outlaws on the edge of the group, a man with a pretty big kriffing staff in his hands, was walking closer to him—slowly, like some sort of predator circling prey—and Finn swallowed, trying as hard as he could to keep his gaze straight and his expression unreadable. Even so, he felt the energy change. He _felt_ the way Poe tensed next to him.

“Listen, lady, we’ve got no clue what you’re talking about.” Poe was a good liar, Finn would give him that. But Poe was emotional, too, and he wasn’t a good enough liar to hide the waver in his voice that showed how she’d struck a nerve. “We don’t want any trouble, like I said, so if you’ll just let us go—”

“A pilot, too,” the woman commented, raising her eyebrows as she switched her gaze to Poe. That man with the staff was still inching closer, and Finn felt like the world was closing in on him, like he couldn’t really _breathe_. It was like he was crammed into the back seat of Poe’s X-wing again, only this time Poe wasn’t there to reassure him and the air was running out. The woman cracked an even wider smile after a moment, nodding to herself. “Dameron, it looks like, isn’t it?” There was a mumble of assent from a few of the bodies next to her. “Commander Dameron. Last known location Crait.” Her eyes scanned him, as if searching for something, and after a moment, she scoffed, voice light. “I’m sorry, but you just don’t look like 500,000 credits to me.”

So that was what this was, Finn realized. Bounty hunters. Not allies of the Order, not allies to _anyone._ They’d pick off whoever they came across just to make some credits. Today, that just so happened to be the two of them.

The panic was too much for him to keep pushing down by now, his eyes wide and fearful, and he didn’t realize he was speaking until the words were falling out of his mouth of their own accord. “Look. If it’s money you want, the Resistance has credits. They’ll pay you just as much as the Order will. More, probably.” It was a lie, and everyone probably knew it, but Finn had to hope that it would buy them time.

Clearly, the woman was unconvinced. “The Resistance is nothing more than a gang of rusty criminals. If they’re desperate enough to be sending you all the way out _here,_ do you really expect me to believe they’re going to match the Order’s prices?” Finn swallowed hard, blinking as he looked at the woman. He didn’t. They both knew he didn’t, and that man with the staff was still drawing closer to them, too close now.

“Wait.” Some of his desperation had bled over to Poe, it seemed, and it _hurt_, hearing the way the man’s voice shook ever so slightly. Poe was always fearless, a hell of a lot braver than Finn was—and even when he didn’t feel brave, he was good at putting on a brave face. Right now, he couldn’t even manage that, and that was how Finn realized just how bad things were. They were going to be taken by these bounty hunters, shipped off to the Order and probably—hell, he didn’t know. Tortured, interrogated, of course. Executed, just like he almost had been with Rose, and for a moment, Finn could feel the heat of the vibro-blade on his neck again. It was so startling that he almost didn’t hear what Poe was saying, tuning back in after the man’s voice hitched just enough to peak his concern.

“—they’ve got to have other targets, and who knows if they’ll even—”

“Shut up.” The woman’s voice was firm enough to actually shut Poe’s mouth, something which Finn thought only General Organa could do. _Kriff. _Her eyes darted to the man now just in front of them, addressing him now. “Take out the defector first. He’s more valuable.”

The man’s eyes fixed on Finn, just like that, and he tensed immediately, paralyzed by his own fear. He couldn’t draw his blaster, couldn’t fight like this. BB-8 let out a series of alarmed beeps, but even those were drawn out as Poe—stupid, _stupid_, impulsive Poe—stepped forwards, words leaving his mouth like blaster fire. “If you _touch_ him, I swear on the kriffing—”

It all happened far too fast. Hearing Poe’s cry was the worst part of all. It was a guttural sound, drawn from the very depths of his chest as the man who had previously been advancing towards Finn suddenly turned, bringing his staff down right in the middle of Poe’s stomach, knocking him to the floor and effectively knocking the wind out of him. Suddenly, at the sound of Poe’s cry, whatever had been frozen him into paralysis was gone. He didn’t think rationally. He didn’t have a plan of attack, didn’t even know what he was trying to accomplish, but he rushed forward at the man, seeing red and ready to fight, ready to take however many hits with that staff the man could dish out—

But the staff never came down on him.

Instead, he’d taken two steps before he’d felt the worst pain of his life—worse than the crash on Crait, worse than the vibro-blade to his neck, worse than Kylo Ren’s kriffing lightsaber—and then he fell, and for a little bit, everything was over.

His world didn’t go completely black. He still saw in blurred motion, and he definitely still heard. BB-8 was far too close to him, their shrill shrieks ringing in his ears over the sound of blaster fire, of fighting. Finn wanted to get his blaster. He wanted to shoot. He wanted to find Poe, to get to him, to make sure that he was alright after that hit because he didn’t _sound_ alright, but he couldn’t move. It felt like burning. It felt like a kriffing star had just fallen out of the sky and right into his kriffing chest, and he couldn’t _breathe, _his lungs were on fire, and BB-8 just kept screaming, making his head pound, and it all just hurt so kriffing _bad._

It felt like it was like that for minutes. Only once the fighting stopped did Finn realize it must’ve been just moments. Suddenly there was no more blaster fire, and BB-8’s harsh screeching had given way to a series of frantic, concerned beeps that were just a bit easier on his ears, and someone was touching him.

He opened eyes he hadn’t realized had been closed, and looked up, and Poe was touching him. Poe was talking to him.

“Kriff. _Kriff, _Finn, buddy, stay with me. Stay—_I know,_ Beebee—” And there was a hand on his chest, right where that burning was, and it hurt enough for Finn to let out an actual cry, harsh and rough and hurting. “Shit. I know—yes, Beebee, _go_—I know, bud, know it hurts. You just gotta stay with me, okay? You just gotta.” There was so much motion around him, BB-8 whirring around and Poe’s hands pressing down where it hurt the most. When Finn looked up again, he couldn’t make out Poe’s face, just his hair and a flicker of stubble cross the tan expanse of his skin. Was he crying? Maybe it was because he was crying. Finn didn’t know.

“You—the staff. You’re okay?”

Poe let out a noise that was halfway to a laugh and halfway to a sob, and he shook his head, digging his hands further against Finn’s chest. “Takes more than a staff to keep me down, baby,” he said quickly, the words rushed but still holding a flicker of that light tone Poe always used when he was joking. Finn clung to that. He liked that voice. “No worrying about me. We’re all about you right now, buddy.”

Finn didn’t understand. A frown flickered across his face, and he looked down, and then all the puzzle pieces seemed to fit together. He saw the way his tan shirt wasn’t tan anymore, the way it was turning dark and red and _wet_. He saw Poe’s hands, themselves bloody, pressing down on his skin. He thought: _oh. _He’d been hit.

“Blaster?” His voice was weak, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t stop it from shaking. Now that he noticed it, his whole body felt like it was shaking, like he was losing his grip on the world around him.

He barely made out Poe’s nod. “Yeah. Yeah, buddy, blaster.” He took a shaking breath, one that Finn could make out even in his hazy, half-aware state. “Gonna be fine, though. Just a little scrape. Beebee’s getting the bacta from the ship, that’ll help. You’re gonna be fine.”

It wasn’t a little scrape. Finn knew that, and he knew that Poe knew it, too, from the thickness of his voice alone. This was more than a scrape, and it was probably more than the bacta Poe had in his X-wing could treat. Poe was a good liar, but Finn saw right through him. Finn knew him better than that, and he knew that Poe was trying as hard as he could to hold this together—not for his own sake, but for Finn’s. He didn’t want Finn to be afraid.

It was a good thing, then, that Finn wasn’t. He was hurting, yes. Everything hurt to a point where he didn’t have the words to describe it anymore. He was sad, too, because he wasn’t an idiot. He’d seen his wound. There was no med team here, no usable equipment. That wound was fatal if not treated, and there was nobody here to treat it. He was done for. He was going to die, and it made him sad, because dying meant leaving Poe, and leaving Poe was something he _never_ wanted to do, _never_—

Things had started to fade for a moment before another sharp pain pulsed through his body and he cried out again, realizing after a moment that Poe was now pressing down harder on the wound, probably trying to staunch the flow of the blood. Finn almost wished it had killed him on impact, so that he wouldn’t have to see this, wouldn’t have to feel the way Poe frantically was trying to keep things together or hear his terrified, shaking breaths. He didn’t mind the pain so much, but seeing Poe so scared out of his mind…

“Poe. ‘M not scared.” His voice was quiet, and he felt like he was slipping away. Maybe he was dying, and maybe this was it. He would’ve been okay with that, he thought, but first he needed to make sure Poe knew he wasn’t afraid. Poe wouldn’t have to hold on for him. “Not scared, Poe.” He said it again, and after a moment, he wondered if he was trying to reassure himself as much as he was Poe.

Poe let out a weak noise, the same one he did when Finn would hold him after a nightmare. He was crying, probably, but Finn couldn’t know, not when his vision was all blurred and he was having a harder and harder time keeping his eyes open. “Kriffing—I know. I know.” Something was touching his forehead. Lips, wet with tears that Finn could imagine streaming down Poe’s face. The thought only made the pain worse. “Not scared of anything. You’re the bravest man I know. You know that? You know--?” His voice cracked, finally, and another one of those wet noises fell out.

Finn tried to nod. He didn’t know if he’d managed it or not, but he hoped he had. He hoped Poe knew.

“I love you. You’re brave, and you’re so strong, Finn, and you’re—you’re _strong. _You can’t do this to me. You can’t. _I love you._”

Poe’s voice is getting shaky, and the world is getting dark. Finn wants to tell him that he doesn’t _want_ to do this, that he would very much like to stay alive and be with Poe for the rest of his life. He wants to tell Poe that he loves him, too, more than he ever thought he could love anyone. He wants to tell Poe about all the amazing things the man has brought into his life, all the ways he’s changed Finn’s life for the better, but when he opens his mouth, no noise comes out. He has to trust that Poe knows.

Poe is still talking, but Finn can’t really make out the words anymore. There’s a whirring noise, and he wonders if BB-8 is here, if the droid is saying something he can’t understand because he never took the kriffing time to learn Binary.

He’ll never have the time, now.

Poe is still talking. Things are getting very dark, and Finn is getting very tired. He’s slipping away and he knows it. He wants to stay, but he’s not strong enough, and so he lets himself start to fade, lets himself give into the numbness that comes to replace the pain.

He has one last moment before it all goes away. One last moment, and lips are back on his forehead, the voice of the man he loves in his ear, and Finn has time for one last thought, one thought to carry with him into death.

He thinks: at least he’s going to die with Poe at his side.

* * *

Finn can’t feel himself.

He wonders if this is it, if this is what it’s like to be dead. Is he going to have to feel like this forever—numb, stuck in a dark world where he can’t feel anything, where there’s no sensory output for him to attach himself to? He can’t see, he can’t feel, he can’t smell or taste or hear.

But then he can hear, and he thinks—_oh. Maybe that was wrong_.

The noise is so soft, so quiet that Finn contemplates whether he’s even actually hearing it or his deprived brain just made it up to try and find some source of entertainment, something for him to engage with. It doesn’t _feel_ real, but it keeps on going, and eventually Finn decides that he doesn’t care if it’s all in his head, if it isn’t real—he has nothing else to do but cling to it and listen.

It takes him a while to figure out that it’s a voice. There’s no breaks in it, no pauses or breaths. It’s going constantly, a low, ever-present hum, but there’s emotion in it that Finn recognizes. He recognizes the pain he hears, the hurt and the desperation, and once he recognizes those emotions, those tones, it’s easy to recognize the voice.

It’s Poe.

_Of course_ it’s Poe. Of course his mind, his _dead_ mind, would do that to him, would take any chance to remind him of the man he loved—the man he’d never see again, now. Oh, but he _wanted_ to see him, and maybe that want was just what was fueling this weird mumbling in his head. Poe’s voice sounds sad, and he wants to see the man, wants to see if he’s crying or hurt. He wants to fix it, to make it all better again, to make Poe happy again. He’d do anything to make Poe happy, but he can’t. He can’t see, stuck in the darkness like he is, feeling numb as the voice slowly grows more and more distant and Finn is slipping into the blackness again.

Maybe if he could see, if he could open his eyes, he’d see the figure at his bedside—hunched over, eyes wet, face red, bloody hands holding something tight to his chest. If he could see, maybe he would’ve seen Poe.

* * *

At first, Finn can’t feel himself again this time, and now he’s starting to get a little pissed off. If this is death, this in-and-out sensation, then he really doesn’t like it. He’s out of the blackness, out of the total void, but for _what reason _he can’t imagine. It’s happened a couple times now, and Finn hates it, hates the way he leaves the blackness behind only to have his mind torture him with Poe’s voice. Sometimes he even tricks himself into thinking he can feel the man’s hand in his, or his lips on his forehead—but no matter what he _thinks_ he hears or feels, he always slips into the blackness again, because at the end of the day, he’s dead and gone, and that means Poe is gone, too.

Only this time things are different. This time, the blackness doesn’t take him away again. He still hears that mumbling, and he feels what he thinks is Poe’s hand, too—but they don’t go away this time. For some reason, whatever reason, he’s staying here.

And he _wants_ to stay here. It hurts, of course, these little glimpses of Poe. He knows he’ll never have the man back again, not wholly, and it _hurts_ to remember that, but at the same time… these figments of his imagination are all that he has, and he clings to them, because even if it hurts, he’s sure that a world without any Poe at all would hurt a million times more. So he wants to stay with that sad, murmuring voice and the firm grip of Poe’s hand in his. He wants to stay with Poe.

He wants, more than anything, to _see_ Poe.

He doesn’t expect that he will.

But then one day, of their own accord, his eyes open. The darkness is gone, and in its place, everything else comes flooding in, overwhelming Finn’s senses.

He can feel a bed underneath him. He knows that he’s laying down. He can feel a blanket pulled up over his body, resting over him far too neatly given how much he usually tosses and turns in his sleep. Mercifully, what he _can’t_ feel is pain. There’s beeping, but not of a droid—it sounds like a machine, or something—and as he takes it all in, the beeping gets faster, but Finn doesn’t care. Finn doesn’t care about any of the sensations he’s suddenly overwhelmed with, because none of them are as important as Poe.

He sees Poe, and he knows, just _knows,_ that somehow, he’s alive again, because Poe is sitting right across from him, holding his hand tightly and looking absolutely horrible with those wet eyes and his face all red and blotchy, and is that _snot_ mixing with his tears—but despite it all, Poe still looks like Poe. Handsome, and beautiful, and Finn can _see_ that look in his eyes, the one he knows as _love_. Finn knows he is alive, because Poe loves him.

Things happen very quickly. Finn has never seen Poe move faster than he does when he springs forward, arms wrapping around Finn as sobs wrack his body. Before he knows it, Finn is sobbing, too, because he can feel the way Poe is hugging him—probably tighter than he should be in his delicate state, but that doesn’t matter, because Finn can feel it.

“Buddy,” Poe says through sobs, his breaths coming quick and trembling, and Finn hates himself for ever making Poe sound like that—broken, like that. “_Kriff._ Finn. I thought—” He can’t get the words out with all the crying, and Finn understands because he doesn’t think he’d be able to speak right now, either. They seem to fall into an understanding, one where they recognize that they don’t _need_ to speak just yet, because they have each other. Poe is right at Finn’s side, and this time, Finn is alive. There’s no doubt about that.

They cry and hold each other, and Poe presses frantic kisses to Finn’s forehead like he can’t really believe that he’s here. _Finn_ can’t believe that he’s here, but as long as he is, he’s not going to ask questions. Eventually, a med team moves in, but even that doesn’t seem important as they check his vitals and assess him, because they let Poe stay at his side while they do it. He can still hold onto Poe.

He doesn’t want to let go again.

* * *

Finn is still weak.

The med team has imprinted that on his mind a million times over, and on Poe’s mind, too. He came too close, they said. He was going to need to be careful. Constant observation, and he wasn’t leaving the medical bay anytime soon. He needed rest most of all, they said.

They didn’t understand how hard it was to _rest_ after he’d just died, after he’d just lost Poe and then miraculously gotten him back again.

They do make a valiant effort, though, the two of them. Poe slides into the narrow medical bed beside him, having abandoned their quarters for the time being. He brings Finn’s pillow, though, because he knows it’s more comfortable than the one on the standard med bay cots. Most importantly, he holds Finn, and the two of them settle down to try and get some sleep.

Sleep, however, doesn’t come. They talk instead. Finn thinks he could talk for hours now, and he imagines that Poe probably feels the same. Poe tells him about what happened, how Finn had gone unconscious, how BB-8 had come with the bacta, how Poe had slapped it on him and hauled him into the X-wing and then hauled ass back to base to get him to the med team.

The med team says it’s Poe who saved his life—Poe, because he managed to get the bacta on and get him to the med bay so quickly. Finn agrees that it’s Poe who saved his life, but he knows that’s now how he did it. It was that voice.

He tells Poe as much. He tells Poe about hearing his voice, feeling his hand. He tells Poe how he clung to it whenever he could. He thinks, ultimately, that is what pulled him through.

“I want to hear your voice for the rest of my life,” Finn murmurs, his eyes closed but still very much awake. Poe is holding him, and he doesn’t _want_ to sleep. He wants to feel this for as long as he possibly can.

“Might regret saying that, buddy,” Poe mumbles back in turn, and he sounds a little bit sleepier, no doubt worn out from all the stress. He doesn’t slip into sleep, though, instead letting out a slow breath. “Can just picture it. After this is all over, when we haven’t got a war to fight. We’ll go live on Yavin IV, or—someplace nice, someplace perfect, y’know? No more fighting. Maybe a little bit of flying, still, but.” Finn can hear the smile in his voice, and what’s more, he can picture it. “I won’t have anything to do but yak and yak at you, and talk your ears off. You might regret it then, I think.”

Finn smiles, because he can, and because that picture—the two of them, living a peaceful life, no more fear or worry or fighting—is just too damn perfect. His eyes feel wet, but he shakes his head still, not caring if the emotion bleeds into his voice. He wants it to. He wants to feel that emotion, because it lets him know that this is real. He’s alive, with Poe, and for right now, that’s not changing.

“Nah. I don’t think I will.”

* * *

Finn still thinks he very well may die with Poe at his side.

He just imagines it very differently, now.

He imagines a war over, a war _won,_ and celebrations and all sort of goodness. And then after… settling down. Like Poe’s told him he wants to so many times. He imagines all sorts of domestic things, things he’s never done but is desperate to get a chance at. Cooking. Maybe even farming. Maybe, he thinks, a family, like the one he’s never had until now. Kids running around and making a mess, like kids should. Above all else, he imagines _love._

He imagines all the years he and Poe might have together—raising a family, making memories, growing old—and he thinks that he still might die with Poe at his side.

But when he does, he will be old and grey, having lived the most that he could. He’ll die with the love of his life next to him, holding him, but this time there won’t be any fear, or sadness, or pain. Just peace.

Peace, he thinks. And Poe at his side.

He can’t imagine a better death—or more importantly, a better life.

**Author's Note:**

> i was going to make this a true Angst story.... but then I decided that I love myself and finnpoe deserves a happy ending. 
> 
> please leave a comment if you liked. or kudos. they fuel me.
> 
> see also: my twitter, @lascndot


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